


Hey! We OK

by soullessfollower98



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4203543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessfollower98/pseuds/soullessfollower98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never concerned L; it was just something he had to do to function. Stressful situations can call for strange remedies. It wasn't until Light Yagami intervened that L realized there could be better ways to cope...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is named after the song Hey! We OK by Never Shout Never. It has nothing to do with the story, it just made me think of Death Note for some reason.  
> Enjoy. :)

L didn’t want to die.

It was quite the contrary, actually – he was _afraid_ of death. The thought of disappearing into oblivion unsettled him like nothing else did, not that anyone knew. Even more disconcerting was the thought of death by Kira. If he lived to survive the case (which he was almost 88 percent sure he would not), heart attacks would hold a special, terrifying place in his heart.

However, even with being logical enough to deduce that he probably _was_ going to die, L still didn’t _want_ to.

He wasn’t sure if the task force could sense that. He knew that his lackadaisical attitude was off putting to the small group of men, even with the amount of times L had proven it wasn’t that he didn’t care about the case (of _course_ he did; this was the largest case and most difficult criminal he’d ever faced), it was just simply the way he was. But, he did not expect them to understand. He didn’t expect _anyone_ to understand.

(And it turns out the only one who ever did was a mass murderer. What a shame.)

Death was the frightening, unavoidable force that was pushing the men, being their motivation when everything seemed helpless, when leads were nearly nonexistent, when the world seemed doomed and the people walking the Earth seemed irreparably damaged.

So, every night, when L cut, it was not to bring him _closer_ to death.

He’d only ever tried to explain the concept to Watari. It was not that he was suicidal; he simply needed to clear his head. Usually the need was not so insistent, but with the migraine that was the Kira case, the detective’s head got cluttered faster than it ever had before. What was previously a once every few weeks habit was now a daily one. It definitely wasn’t an improvement, but it wasn’t making L concerned, either. It was more of an inconvenience, if he had to put a word to it. Failing to cut would lead to mood swings, irritability, lack of concentration. Those kind of internal distractions were intolerable to the man; he needed to stay sharp. Snapping at his team for no reason would not help catch Kira.

And if the only thing that would relieve the pressure in his mind was the feeling of a blade slicing his skin, he wasn’t going to argue.

Watari was the only person who knew, having found out simply because L hadn’t expected him home so early one day. Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t expect him, rather that there had only been a five percent chance of him getting off work before the usual time. The older man had given him a long talk after the initial shock of the situation had worn off. Discussed the consequences. How harmful it was. He had even called L careless for risking his life in such a way.

But he _wasn’t_ risking his life. He knew where to cut and where not to, where major veins were, where the skin was the weakest. He didn’t need the adrenaline associated with almost committing suicide. No, he just needed the pain. Needed the invisible hands to release the grip on his brain a little, just enough to where he could think.

He hadn’t expected Watari to understand – he still didn’t – so he had simply just nodded and pretended to pay attention to the lecture, while his mind, fresh and at ease and calm, had moved back to his latest case.

L didn’t think anybody he associated with would understand. And the only person who _maybe_ would was almost most definitely a serial killer.

What a shame.

* * *

 

In the end, it was a small, careless miscalculation, one that shouldn’t have made any real difference in the grand scheme of things. But, despite the three percent chance of it mattering at all, it _did_ , and it would now be one of the things that kept L up at night.

The day before had been long. There had been something that resembled a lead (though, because it had nothing to do with Light Yagami, L was doubtful from the beginning), and the entire team was so excited that they stayed up half the night, investigating as much as they possibly could. It turned out to be nothing, a series of Kira-like coincidences, and when everybody left, the mood had turned very, very sour.

Though he would never dare to show it, the whole thing left L’s head a jumbled mess. He had felt desperation trying to claw its way out of him, trying to alter his judgment, and it took nearly a third of his brain power to stop it. Their only lead in what felt like years, and it couldn’t even last a full twenty four hours? It was pathetic. _L_ was pathetic. He knew the public was afraid, and that they had trusted him to stop this monster of a person. And he was failing. Failing _miserably_.

By the end of the night, he was losing the battle against his mind. Almost immediately after everyone left, he was muttering _goodnight_ to Watari, shutting down the unnecessary machines, and then trying not to run to his room. To his bathroom. To his relief.

The cutting session that had ensued was messy, sloppy. Carefulness wasn’t even in the vicinity of his train of thought. Almost nothing was. The anguish that was filling his heart blocked out everything else, until the pain got sharp enough that it left his mind blank, empty. When coherent thoughts starting drifting back in, L wasn’t sure if he had blacked out or not. A glance at a clock, which told him it was more than an hour after he came up there, made the idea seem very probable.

When he looked down at his arm, shock froze his body for maybe five minutes. The marks were not in any way planned, precise, or cautious. They were all over the place, some small, some large. Some shallow, some deep. The deepest ones were still trickling blood, and a grotesque red pool had formed underneath him. The detective could still see the faint white scars on the currently unaffected part of his arm, nearly a decade’s worth of controlled abuse.

It was, for lack of better words, a fuck up. A major one.

Just a little deeper, a little more frantic, and he could have easily bled out. He really had put himself in danger this time. He had been careless. The realization made his stomach drop, and he was overcome with guilt and shame for a few minutes, until he grew frustrated. Cutting was supposed to make him feel _better_ , not worse. So what he had made a mistake _this_ time? Tomorrow night he would be careful. He would be in control again.

He was sure of it.

It hadn’t taken him long to clean up, years of practice making the actions almost second nature. L would’ve been on autopilot, if there wasn’t so much blood.

As he laid in bed, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, he wondered if this mistake would be the one that revealed his secret. Several situations were possible; the deeper wounds could start bleeding and leave red blotches on his shirt, some member of the task force could accidentally bump his arm and cause him to wince, his sleeve could simply roll up. Usually his cuts were in a specific area, one that wasn’t stressed much due to normal movement (limiting his motion would very easily draw attention to himself) and one that didn’t cause a lot of blood loss. The wrist was one of the more commonly avoided areas, because of the risk of the veins, and because it was very easily seen. But, apparently, that hadn’t mattered in L’s panic-stricken state; his wrist was just as bad as the rest of his arm.

Sighing, the detective closed his eyes and stretched his body out, causing the tops of his feet to hang over the edge of the bed. It was a tactic he commonly used to relax himself, and, hopefully, fall asleep. However, sleep was most likely not going to come easy. L’s thoughts were jumping from subject to subject, from strawberry shortcake to the probability that Light Yagami was Kira, from the way Near’s eyes shone when he was playing with his toys to the way his small hand had felt enclosed in Watari’s when he was young. Every few minutes or so his thoughts flickered back to his arm, like he was a dog on a leash and anxiety was his owner, tugging on his collar when he stopped to sniff some roses.

It was around six that his brain had finally calmed down enough for him to drift off to a dreamless sleep. Unfortunately, he was woken up a mere two hours later by his alarm (which was usually rendered useless, as, after minimal sleep, he often started his day in the middle of the night).

As he went through his morning routine, his mind sluggishly moved from thought to thought at a snail’s pace. Obviously the stressful night combined with a couple hours of sleep wasn’t mixing together well, and L wondered if this was how fast Misa Amane’s brain moved on a daily basis.

Sitting in his bed, drinking his very sugary tea, he concluded that yes, that was probably the case.

L was downstairs an hour later, arriving later than the rest of the team, despite the fact that he had never even left the building. Nobody looked up at him as he walked over to his desk; it seemed that the mood from last night had, unfortunately, stuck.

The detective sat down in his chair and assumed his usual position, looking around for the bag of candy he always kept next to his computer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Light glance over, stare at him for a couple seconds, then look back at his screen.

“Light-kun,” L began, his voice booming against the silence that had previously taken over the room, “is there something you want to say to me?”

Light chuckled softly (a sound that, if heard alone, would make one think of a killer facing his latest victim), and then leaned back in his chair, crossing his left leg over his right. “Good morning, Ryuzaki.”

A senseless, frightened part of his mind had expected him to ask, _“What’s that on your arm?”_ despite the fact that not only were the deeper wounds now bandaged, they were well hidden under his shirt. There was nothing unusual about him. He had made sure of it.

L decided not to answer; Light was just keeping up appearances, after all. But, after glancing around the room and seeing Soichiro Yagami’s glare, he turned back to his computer and muttered, “Good morning.”

He could imagine Soichiro’s pleased expression.

Somehow, Light had managed to stay perfect in his father’s eyes. L supposed it wasn’t hard to do; Soichiro had watched Light grow up, watched him become the image of perfection that he was today. And obviously the son was more intelligent than the father. Light was probably smarter than everyone in the room, except for L, of course. It was almost effortless for Light to trick his father into anything, so it was no wonder that Soichiro believed in his innocence wholeheartedly.

But Soichiro was by no means stupid. In some deep part of his psyche, couldn’t he see it? Couldn’t he remove the parental eyes and view Light without bias? See the glint in his eyes, hear the edge to his voice? Was L the only one that _could_?

About a half an hour passed without any notable events. The room was almost silent, the only noise being the sounds of typing and clicking, and, occasionally, sighing. It made time go slower, each minute feeling like ten.

Suddenly, Light said, “Ryuzaki, come here.”

L glanced over at him. He was staring at his computer screen, leaned in close, engrossed in whatever he was reading. His eyes were wide, taking everything in, and his right leg was bouncing.

Whatever he had discovered really had him interested, and even if L didn’t trust him, he was far too curious to ignore him.

He wheeled his chair next to Light’s and looked at the screen. It was a list of the most recent Kira murders, name and place and time. Scanning the information, he didn’t see anything exceptionally fascinating – it was just simply _the list_ , something all of the team had looked at many times before.

But Light’s eyes were still wide, his body language screaming _excited_. “Notice these people?” He clicked a button, and then several names were highlighted. “Do you recognize any of them?”

L in fact did. They were all businessmen, some leaders of local companies. He didn't know any of them personally (he barely knew anyone personally), but he would hear their names every once in awhile. And they were all, apparently, dead.

“These men may have not been the nicest people you would ever meet,” Light said, “but not one of them has ever committed a crime big enough for Kira to take notice.”

L looked up from the screen and met Light's gaze with his own. The boy looked triumphant, extremely so, and with anybody else, the expression may have been cute. But with Light it was almost condescending, and the slight smirk on his lips screamed arrogance.

But he definitely had found something. A possible lead. But the fact that _he_ , an eighteen year old boy with sociopathic tendencies, had found it before _L_ , the greatest detective in the world...

He shifted his position slightly, so his wrist dug into the arm of his chair. Pain shot through his body, straight to his brain, and he felt immediately better. More alert.

Looking back at the screen, he scanned the list again. “Based on this...it would appear that Kira is part of the business world, possibly owning a company or trying to get promoted...”

“How would killing people get you promoted?” Matsuda asked from behind them, and when L turned around and looked, everybody was staring at him, their eyes wide with the possibility of catching Kira.

He looked back at the screen, where Light was searching for information on each individual victim. “Killing your company's competition would increase revenue, meaning that promotions would be more readily available...” L paused, biting the tip of his thumb as he watched Light's research, his mind not really focused on what he was saying to Matsuda. “Or you could just kill your boss and hope you get the promotion...but Kira wouldn't do that. That would be relinquishing far too much control in the situation.”

“Kira's never killed innocent businessmen before,” Soichiro said. “Why start now?”

“Maybe he was hoping nobody would notice?” Matsuda again.

“No, Kira doesn't _hope_...” L couldn't help it; his eyes slid over to Light, the boy still concentrating solely on his computer. “Kira is always sure of himself...he would never make a mistake like this.”

“Well, obviously he did. I mean, there can't be _another_ Kira, can there?” Matsuda laughed, a soft, nervous laughter, but it stopped when L didn't immediately say _no_. “Ryuzaki?”

“Yes, there can be another Kira,” he answered after a minute of thought. “And there is. Whoever we're dealing with now, they're not the original Kira.”

There wasn't even enough time for L's words to stun the room into silence; after a few seconds, Light was grabbing his arm, saying, “Ryuzaki, I've got it!” as he did so.

L immediately hissed through his teeth, the pain constricting his brain for a few seconds and leaving his thoughts blank. He felt Light let go, and though it was significantly less uncomfortable, he still had to wait another five seconds before he could move.

And when he did, Light was staring at him, his eyebrows raised. Though he didn’t see them, he knew that the rest of the team was as well.

L just stared back, making sure his face was as calm and unbothered as it usually was. “I hurt my arm last night. It’s not important. What did you find, Light-kun?”

He could feel everyone’s gazes slip away from him one by one. They had no reason _not_ to believe him, so why wouldn’t they? Something as minimal as a hurt arm…it truly _wasn’t_ important.

However, Light was still looking at him, his eyes untrusting and suspicious. He had _every_ reason not to believe him.

But, despite whatever he may have been thinking, he didn’t say anything. He just turned to his computer, where he had the list open again, and everything resumed, like nothing had ever happened to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

“All of these victims came from several different companies, all around Japan.” Light clicked through a few pages, showing that his claim was, in fact, true. “Every company except one.” The next page was a graph, showing the monthly incomes of the largest businesses in Japan. L didn’t even have to look at the minute details to know that the boy was _definitely_ on to something.

There were five companies shown, and four of them steadily declined, while one increased at nearly the same rate.

Yotsuba.

L knew little to nothing about the establishment; business was not one of the detective’s areas of expertise, and all of the companies seemed to blend together, never catching his eye. Until now, of course. It was obvious that the third Kira ( _third_ , because he was 82 percent sure that Light Yagami and Misa Amane were the first and second) worked in some level of Yotsuba.

It was finally a lead.

“Which company is it?” Matsuda asked, sounding rather impatient, but eager at the same time. He could tell that the whole room was buzzing with the same kind of anticipation; it was in the air, in his bones.

While subtly pressing his wrist into his arm rest, as to not lose focus, he said, “Yotsuba. The third Kira is somewhere in Yotsuba.”

“Third?” For the first time that day, it was Mogi speaking. He had been simply sitting and observing, from what L had seen, and he was almost surprised at the man’s participation.

Nevertheless, he spun his chair around, his thumb still positioned halfway in his mouth. “Yes…third. I am fairly certain that Light and Miss Amane are the first and second…which would make this new Kira the third.”

Light huffed from beside him, though L didn’t turn to look. Hearing the words _I’m not Kira_ would not be necessary at this point; he’d heard them so many times that he could recall the pitch and inflection that Light used when saying them.

Soichiro also seemed fairly displeased, if the glare he was giving the detective was any indicator.

Actually, all of them seemed at least slightly disgruntled. As if they all thought that Light was a saint that could do no wrong.

Why couldn’t they _see_?

L turned back around, bringing himself face to face with the graph once again. He wondered if anyone else had noticed this new trend. Probably a few people, but it was unlikely that anyone would notice any correlation between Yotsuba and Kira.

Near probably would have. Mello as well.

And L _should_ have. It was painfully obvious now that he was not at full brain capacity. Not fully focused. The thought made him want to reopen all of his wounds, to force his mind to cooperate.

But he couldn’t do that now. Not yet.

He suddenly found himself wishing for the day to be over, even though it had just begun.

“Ryuzaki,” Soichiro said gruffly, and L could hear his heavy footsteps as he walked across the room. “What should our next course of action be?”

The detective, not turning around, moved himself back over to his computer, immediately searching for Yotsuba’s main website, and a list of notable employees. “Well…I would suggest researching the company as extensively as possible…we need to try and figure out who might be Kira…”

“Maybe one of us should go in and investigate!” L glanced over at Matsuda, who was looking even more excited than before, very nearly bouncing in his seat. “Like a spy of some sort?”

L opened his mouth, about to say some very choice words about how that was _not_ a good idea, but Light started speaking before he could. “No, Matsuda, I don’t think that’s the best idea. In my opinion, we should keep our investigation as low profile as possible, so Kira doesn’t figure out that we’re onto him. Wouldn’t you agree, Ryuzaki?”

All eyes slid over to him, and for a second, L considered disagreeing just to be stubborn. But, Light was right (of _course_ he was right), and he ended up muttering, “Yes, I do agree, Light-kun,” as he turned back to his computer.

He didn’t have to see Light’s smirk to know it was there.

* * *

 

The rest of the day was nearly silent, everybody diligently focused on their research. It didn’t have quite the same elation as the previous night’s almost lead had, but it was infinitely better than the frustrated hopelessness that had plagued them the past few weeks. The calm atmosphere was helping L; the pressure on his brain wasn’t quite as bad. He could actually think, focus, make progress. Keep his even keeled appearance in check.

Around midnight, the silence was replaced with yawns and the sounds of creaking chairs. About an hour after that, the team started clearing out, and soon, only L and Light were left. (Soichiro Yagami had, naturally, offered to take his son home, but for some reason the boy had declined.)

Despite the effectiveness of the calm environment, the detective was still itching to get to his room, to simultaneously chastise and improve himself with the sharp edge of a blade.

But Light was still there, sitting a few feet away from him, back straight with perfect posture. Even if he was tired, L doubted that he’d show any evidence of it. He was a perfectionist, almost compulsively so, and he was very highly concerned with his outward appearance.

If L had to concentrate on making himself look perfect, he would’ve truly lost his mind a long time ago.

Looking back at his computer, his eyes scanned over the page he was last looking at.

Kyosuke Higuchi.

He was the head of Technology Development at Yotsuba. He was high up in the company food chain, definitely, but there was room for improvement. For a promotion. He _could_ be Kira, just like everyone at Yotsuba _could_ be…

“Ryuzaki.”

L glanced over at Light, to see that he was now facing him, posture still impeccable, but his whole demeanor seeming more relaxed. Maybe he was going to leave. Leave so L could make his way up into his room, into his bathroom, so he could reach behind the toilet and –

“Yes, Light-kun?” L looked back at his computer, reading more about Higuchi. He was 32, relatively young to be in such a successful position (although he himself, the greatest detective in the world, was only 24). He had no wife or children, and lived alone. Work seemed to dominate his life, as he often worked overtime, especially on Fridays –

“What happened to your arm?”

L froze, his gaze resting on one word – _meeting_ – and he tried to keep his mind from caving in on itself.

It was just a general inquiry. He had mentioned the injury earlier in the day, after _the incident_ (he’d already come up with a name for the event), and now Light was just asking about it, out of politeness. Out of curiosity for his wellbeing. He didn’t _know_ , nobody except Watari knew. There was no possible way for him to know. In his mind, he was picturing a minor injury, a cut or scratch. He was not picturing the reality, the lines and lines of scars, the prolonged abuse, the new, panic induced messiness of the previous night.

Light Yagami knew nothing.

L intended to keep it that way.

He turned back to the boy, who had masked his face in an expression of genuine concern (why would he care about the detective? He’d accused him of being a mass murderer since before they met), and in return plastered uninterested boredom on his face.

“It was truly nothing, like I said before. A…cake mishap. Watari made the mistake of giving me a knife.” L forced himself to turn back to his computer, to act like it was _truly_ nothing. But it felt paper thin, his whole façade, and he imagined that his shirt was translucent, that Light could see everything, that he _knew_ –

“That really was a mistake on Watari’s part.” Light was silent for a few seconds, and L hoped that he would just _let it go_ – “You seemed pretty pained when I touched you, though. Could it be infected?”

L’s thumb moved to his mouth, and he tried to turn his irritation into apathy. “You know, Light-kun, showing unnecessary compassion will not make you any less of a suspect.”

“Ryuzaki, for the last time,” (here it comes), “I’m _not_ Kira. You said it yourself, I’m your friend. Aren’t friends allowed to be concerned about each other?”

“Yes. I believe that is the basis of friendship.” L turned to look at him again, allowing the littlest amount of frustration into his demeanor. “You, however, are edging on being _overly_ concerned. I am perfectly fine.”

“Alright, alright.” Light turned back to his computer, correcting his slightly worsening posture, and becoming businesslike again. “I would still recommend using some antiseptic.” He paused. “And maybe eat something. You seem to be a little cranky.”

L didn’t answer him; he simply looked back at his screen, a picture of Higuchi staring back at him, and immersed himself in research.

* * *

 

The detective stared up at his ceiling, sleep not even coming close to him. Both of his arms stung, new wounds created and old ones reopened. But his brain had finally calmed; what had been a violent, crashing storm an hour ago was now a serene, peaceful sea.

Somewhere deep in his mind, a voice told him that it was simply the eye of the hurricane.

He pushed that thought aside and closed his eyes, willing himself to slip into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

L woke up thinking of Near.

He hadn’t dreamt of him; he barely ever slept, making dreams an uncommon occurrence. He’d just simply had the boy’s face in his mind when consciousness had come to him.

He wondered if the younger boy would…understand.

Only 13 years old, and his intelligence already rivaled L’s. There was no doubt that he’d one day become smarter than him, and the detective was absolutely certain that whenever he died (whether it be next month or in a decade) Near would take his place and excel in it.

Would he understand the reasoning behind L’s actions? Would he understand the need, the desperation, the never-ending search for stability, clarity? Could he relate to sitting in bed at three in the morning, fresh cuts slowly bleeding into a bandage, and feeling his _best_? Would he agree that he felt the most sane, the most in control, only after watching and feeling his blood seep out of an open wound?

Then again…did L _want_ him to?

* * *

 

Touta Matsuda was an idiot.

The most helpful idiot that L had ever known.

(Not that he would ever tell him that, of course. He would rather remain apathetic to everyone he worked with; even Light, who he considered his first friend.)

Faking the man’s death had nearly been more than the detective was willing to do. But, as the rest of the team had seemed quite insistent that the boy stayed _alive_ , L had complied and gotten him back safely.

Saved his life by pretending to end it.

The whole ordeal definitely had its benefits; Matsuda had come back with direct information about Kira, even possibly narrowing their search down to a mere eight people. However, he didn’t doubt that the task force, without Matsuda’s _help_ , would’ve come to the same conclusion as they were at now. It just would’ve taken time.

Time…meaning the lives of countless innocent people.

L would’ve been willing to sacrifice those people – what choice would they have had, anyway? – but he knew that the rest of the team wouldn’t have been on board.

So, he supposed, despite the pounding headache it gave him, Matsuda had done a good job.

Not that he would ever know.

“Ryuzaki.”

L turned his chair to face Light, the boy looking at him with wide eyes, excitement dancing around in the dark, amber orbs. It was the same kind of energy that had Light bouncing in his seat when he had just figured out Yotsuba’s involvement in the case.

 _He_. He had figured it out. Not L. The greatest detective in the world, being surpassed by a college student. When he killed L (if he was going to die during this case, he was almost positive that it would be by Light’s hand, and that his last sight in the world would be those _eyes_ , those always searching, mysterious eyes), would he take his place? Would he act as _L,_ act as him to the outside world?

Staring at the teen, at that perfectly masked face, no emotion unplanned, he knew the answer was yes.

And the thought of him – of _Kira_ – having that much power, defeating L in such a way – it made him so suddenly nauseous that he briefly wondered if he was going to throw up the cake he just ate.

He moved slightly, so his arm pressed into his chair, and a million tiny shocks of pain traveled through his body. His brain refocused, his headache lessened a tiny bit, and he ached for more.

It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.

“Mmm.” The detective didn’t feel like articulating the words _Light-kun_. “What is it?”

“When are you planning on having Wedy bug the meeting room?” Eager, that’s what Light was. Looking more closely, L could even see passion floating around in the boy’s eyes. Obviously it could be intentional, forced – but something about it seemed genuine. If he was Kira (or had been, if L’s suspicions were correct) why was he throwing himself into the case so thoroughly?

Maybe…

Maybe he didn’t remember being Kira.

“Tomorrow night,” L answered, the majority of his brain not thinking about the words that were leaving his mouth. “I’ve already told her to start collecting the supplies she’ll need.”

If Light didn’t remember being Kira, it would explain the general benevolentness he’d displayed as of late (although there was still that touch of arrogance, the hint of something dark lurking inside him – L suspected that was just normal Light Yagami). It would explain why whenever he said _I’m not Kira_ , the detective felt inclined to believe him. It would explain that look – that damned look – L saw on camera, during Light’s confinement. He had been Kira, definitely Kira, but it had only taken him a second to change, to become…innocent.

Light Yagami _was_ innocent. Or, at least, he truly _thought_ he was. He believed he was. Wholeheartedly.

Would he be surprised, if he ever learned of his past crimes? More than likely, his brain would adapt, rationalize – he would become Kira again, just a slightly different version.

L wondered if the memory loss was intentional. It was probable, given the fact that without memories, the boy sincerely was _not_ lying when he said he wasn’t Kira. It made his faultless façade (that wasn’t even a façade to him) seem all the more real.

But his memories would come back. Kira wouldn’t sacrifice his power for too long, definitely not sacrifice it entirely. He had a plan – a plan that, if L knew Kira (which he most certainly did), was already in action.

Was there any way to stop it?

There was. There had to be.

L _never_ lost.

“Ryuzaki.” Light’s voice, louder and closer, pulled him out of his thoughts. As he refocused, he realized the teen had moved his chair closer to him, and was staring at him with wide and concerned eyes. (He wasn’t currently Kira; he didn’t want L dead; _that’s_ why he genuinely cared.) “You’ve been staring at me for the past two minutes.”

“My apologies, Light-kun.” The detective turned back to his desk, picking up a plate that had an unfinished slice of strawberry shortcake on it. “Did you need anything else?”

“No, I guess that’s-” Light paused, and when he spoke next, his voice was laced with confusion, “What’s that on your wrist?”

L’s entire body froze. His eyes quickly darted to his arm, where the sleeve of his shirt had rolled down his arm slightly, revealing one of the cuts from his fuck up (which was nearly a week and a half ago; of course he’d reopened the wound several times). From Light’s position and distance, he wouldn’t be able to tell _exactly_ what it was…

“Oh, hm.” He tried to feign disinterest as well as possible, even though his heart was _pounding_ – “It appears to be some strawberry glaze.” He ran his thumb across the wound, making it seem like he was simply wiping it off, and then quickly pulled his sleeve up, so Light wouldn’t be able to tell that it was still there – that it wouldn’t go away. He then put his thumb in his mouth, as if he was licking the strawberry flavoring off, and glanced at Light. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

The boy was staring at him. His expression was unreadable – L couldn’t tell if he could see through everything he had just done, or if he was wondering why he associated himself with such a strange creature.

He sincerely hoped it was the latter.

“You’re…” Light seemed at a loss for what to say. “You’re welcome.” He moved back to his computer, and, straightening his back, starting doing work again.

L just silently ate his cake while absentmindedly clicking through Yotsuba’s website.

* * *

 

His eyelids were so, so heavy.

It was as if tiny weights were pulling them down, keeping them shut, and he briefly considered just letting the weights win – it was so much easier than trying to pry his eyes open.

The smallest movements, the simplest of thoughts – they all felt like they were sucking the energy out of him. Maybe he should just go back to sleep; nothingness was far better than this.

But he couldn’t. There was something nagging at him, tugging on his brain. There was also this _pain_ , this ache that went up and down his arm. Any movements made it sharpen, like a thousand daggers were in him all at once. Something in the back of his mind told him the daggers were why he couldn’t sleep – but he didn’t understand.

He was _so_ tired…why couldn’t he just go back to sleep?

No. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Gathering his strength, he opened his eyes – just a little – and looked around.

Everything was white and blurred and unfocused. He tried to make out details – where he was, what he was doing there – but it all took so much _energy_.

His eyes started to close, the darkness welcoming and warm – _no_. He widened his eyes a little, making his surroundings a little less unclear (he was in a bathroom, that much he could tell) and looked around again. He looked down, saw the blue of his jeans, and –

Red. Red. _Red_.

A connection was made in his head, and he recognized _that_ much red to be alarming. He shouldn’t have that much red – it wasn’t the normal amount, was it?

 _You’re bleeding out_.

L snapped into clarity so fast it made his head pound, his whole body shake, a shiver run down his spine.

He had cut too deep – that much was _very_ obvious. He had cut too deep, and, ultimately, blacked out (not an entirely uncommon occurrence, although he had never had this much confusion after regaining consciousness). Logically, he knew he needed to go to the hospital, have doctors stop the bleeding, stitch up his wound. Illogically, he thought of doctors seeing his scars, putting him on _suicide watch_ – as _if_ he wanted to _die_! – and he knew that a hospital was not an option.

That left…

 _Quillsh_.

Using the small amount of energy he had left, he pulled his phone out of his pocket with his uninjured arm (uninjured as in not bleeding – there were still cuts up and down the length of it). L opened a text message, typed out a single word – _help ­_ – and quickly pressed the send button.

His phone tumbled out of his hand, exhaustion overtaking him. Quillsh _would_ come eventually, most likely sooner rather than later. He could sleep until he arrived, because staying awake was far too difficult…

“Lawliet.”

L blinked himself awake, recognizing, after a few seconds, a human form – _Quillsh._ He then recognized the use of his true last name, something Quillsh had always done to get his attention as a young child.

Evidently, it still worked.

The detective sat up a little, the movement sending tendrils of pain down his arm. Only, this time, it served to heighten his coherency, make him focus, rather than muddle his brain, slow down his thinking.

“Wammy.”

“I stitched and bandaged the deepest cuts.” The man’s voice was a sigh, disappointment and worry dripping off his words. “I…I thought Kira had gotten to you.”

“No, no…” L’s mind ran wild at the thought of Kira choosing to kill him in such a way. What a chaotic, beautiful mess that would be. “Light doesn’t have my name…”

“I know.” Quillsh was kneeling next to him, a damp, red washcloth lying next to him. (L suspected it wasn’t that color to begin with.) “I thought you had stopped this, L.”

“I never stopped.” What was the point in lying? After that day, the day that he found out, they had only mentioned it again a handful of times – it just so happened that during those times L was calm, only cutting once every month, sometimes longer. It was really only natural for Quillsh to assume he had stopped altogether.

“I am aware that work has been rough, but…” The older man looked away from him, and L could sense grief and stress in his demeanor. “Things will get better. We will catch Kira.”

“I know we will.” The detective sat up again, the pain in his arm only sharpening him further. “My intent is never to die, I promise you.”

“It doesn’t seem like it, _Lawliet_.”

L wanted to huff at the second use of his name. “I just needed to clear my head, Quillsh. That’s all it ever is.” He paused, then added, “Tonight was just a…mistake. A miscalculation.”

“Miscalculation of what, exactly?”

“How deep of a cut is considered safe. There were also most likely a few veins that I forgot about.”

Quillsh sighed and picked up the washcloth, holding it in his hands. “You need to be careful.”

“I always am.” It was, regrettably, a lie.

And L knew the older man could sense it, too. “Except when you aren’t.”

“Except when I’m not.”

The two were silent for a few seconds, just staring at one another, and then Quillsh stood up, placing the washcloth in the bathroom sink.

“I assume this is to remain an isolated incident, not mentioned to the task force?”

“Yes, obviously.” L slowly stood up, his entire body feeling shaky and drained. He wondered if he would sleep more than four hours. “Thank you for your help.”

“This is not the first time I’ve saved your life.” Quillsh glanced at him. “How many times have you saved mine?”

L felt his lips curve into a smile. “The time will come, Wammy. Don’t you worry.”

“Whatever you say, Lawliet.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow how weird that the chapter I'm most self conscious about is the longest  
> Anyway, enjoy! :)

Showers, for L, were a different experience than they used to be.

They used to just simply be a necessity, occasionally calming. The water would warm his body and soothe his nerves, relax him like nothing else could.

Now showers were something to be avoided. Dreaded, almost. A few times he’d been so reluctant that his hygiene had noticeably suffered. (Noticeable to him; he would never let it get to the point of it being able to catch others’ attention.)

During the day, his body was well hidden. Between the bandages and baggy clothes, he usually never saw a thing. And even in the middle of the night, when he had his blade, he could easily pull his sleeve down if it got to be too much. Look away, turn it off; everything’s normal.

While showering, he was bare. His defenses were stripped away; he had no choice but to look, to _see_ , to take it all in, whether he wanted to or not. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, his surroundings painfully white, he was a harsh contrast of black and pink and red.

Sometimes, it made him sick. Sometimes, it made him crave more. Sometimes, it made him ashamed.

He’d never been ashamed before – there was no reason. He was doing this to better himself. He was not releasing pain, like he knew others did, he was trying to _gain_ , gain clarity, sensibility, coherency. Without this habit, he knew, he’d have gone mad long ago. It was simply a necessary evil in his life (he wasn’t sure when he had labeled it _evil_ – it truly wasn’t a bad thing), something he had to do so he could be at his best, so he could save the people he did, so he could bring criminals to justice.

So he could catch Kira.

If he stopped now, he would lose. Yes, they would probably still find Yotsuba Kira, but _overall_ , he would _lose_. He’d watch Light’s innocence slip away, watch him become the killer that was locked in his subconscious.

And the last thing he’d see would be those eyes, the last thing he’d know would be that he was _right_ , he was right all along and Kira was right _there_ , all this time, right out of reach, and he’d have lost, _he’d have lost_.

Losing was not an option.

But – showers. They were still an undeniable issue (a small issue, compared to Kira.)

L wondered, if Light saw him like that, naked and bare and open and horrifyingly honest – what would he think? Would he understand? Would he _pity him?_ No, surely he wouldn’t do that. Light knew the man well enough at this point to know that he could not stand to be _pitied_. To be looked at as weak. (Because he wasn’t weak at all.) Quillsh knew that about him; that’s why the night he’d saved L’s life, he’d looked at him with worry, disappointment, concern – but not pity.

It was a testament to his kindness, to shut off a natural human reaction like that, simply because L disliked it.

(If it was a matter of being courteous, perhaps Light _would_ pity him, just because he knew it would irk the detective.)

* * *

 

“This date is so _boring_! There’s nothing to do!”

L didn’t respond, choosing to focus on his cake instead of Misa’s complaints. Perhaps the date would’ve been more _interesting_ , if they’d actually started up a conversation. Instead the two chose to sit in awkward silence, Misa slowly getting more frustrated with L’s presence and Light (probably, hopefully) thinking about how much he actually disliked the girl.

“Ryuzaki, I _still_ don’t understand why you have to be here. _And_ I don’t understand why we have to have _our_ date at _your_ headquarters!”

Swallowing his cake, L opened his mouth, ready to explain, but Light answered before he could. “It’s because he thinks we’re going to discuss our plans as the first and second Kira.”

Well…that was _partly_ true. It’s what he’d told the task force, anyway. (Which had earned him some glares and scoffs.) In all actuality, the detective was fearful that Misa would somehow bring Light’s locked away Kira back to the surface. That one moment he’d be innocent, his amber eyes genuine and real, and then the next it would be the mask, hints of the truth, of the evil that Kira was, shining through in his gaze.

He knew they weren’t going to talk about being Kira. They both believed they weren’t, or hadn’t been (yes, _they_ – he had decided that Misa had also lost her memories, like Light), so how would they discuss it?

If he backed off now, at this point, after so long of being so certain and insisting so much that they were Kira…that would just make him look suspicious.

So, really, the only logical option was to ruin their “date.” (L doubted it would have been any better than this, even if it was just the two of them.)

“Just pretend I’m not here,” he said, taking another mouthful of cake. “I’m really not trying to intrude, I promise.”

A half truth, as he had also done this because it was highly entertaining. And it kept his mind occupied, which was very, _very_ necessary lately. Alone with his thoughts and he’d be running to his room, locking himself in the bathroom and ripping off his bandages, grabbing his –

_No._ He had to wait.  _He had to_ .

Misa groaned, bringing L back into the present, and she leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. Really, L was almost positive that it was _her_ presence that was bringing the mood down. Without her, he and Light surely would’ve begun talking about _something_ , rather than sit in this uncomfortable, stagnant silence.

Still, it was somehow more entertaining than his normal activities. Instead of researching Yotsuba, he was the third wheel during a terrible date, where only one side of the relationship had any real feelings. To some, that may have seemed boring, but watching Light’s behavior, seeing the honest, truthful frustration flicker across his face…it was oddly _rewarding_.

Light sighed, staring down at his hands, and L knew that the teen would much rather be working, instead of doing this. For some reason, though, he felt it necessary to keep Misa around, which is why he even tolerated these dates at all. But, why? What was her purpose? She was an annoying, airheaded girl, her only real power long gone with her memories.

And why didn’t Light just act like he liked her? He was skilled at that kind of thing, that kind of deception, and even though it may be unpleasant, the boy could easily do it.

Was…was he afraid to hurt her feelings? Was this sincere showing of emotions an attempt to get her to break things off with him?

Unbelievable. No doubt if he was Kira, and she wasn’t useful to him anymore, he would be kicking her to the curb.

In the most polite way possible, of course.

“ _Light_ ,” Misa sang, her voice bordering on shrill, “why don’t you come sit over here?”

The boy looked hesitant, to say the least, but after a few seconds of not moving, he stood up and walked over to the other couch, sitting down next to Misa. She immediately attached herself to his side, smiling up at him with what was almost, undeniably, _love_. How could she look at him like that and not be at least a _little_ taken aback when his returning gaze showed nothing of the sort? How could anyone do such a thing?

“Mmm…say, Misa,” L began, noting the disgruntled noise he got in response, “you love Light will all of your heart, don’t you?”

(Also noted: the classic _deer in the headlights_ look that was plastered on Light’s face.)

“Of course I do!” Misa responded defensively, somehow moving closer to the boy. “What kind of a question is that?”

“You also love Kira, do you not?” If he was being honest with himself, he could definitely see _why_ Misa had a spot in her heart for Kira. He had killed her parents’ murderer, brought him to his cruel form of justice. If someone killed the person who murdered L’s parents…he had no doubt in his mind that he’d respect and appreciate them a great deal.

“Well…” Misa looked uncomfortable now, most likely unsure about admitting her admiration for Kira in front of the detective, even though she’d done so before. “Yes, I…I do.”

“You realize that Light wants to catch and ultimately kill Kira.” The look on Misa’s face said that she had obviously not put it together, or thought about it. “Who do you side with, Misa-san?”

Light, though still looking uneasy, did seem to have his curiosity piqued. Or, perhaps, he just appreciated a scenario in which he wasn’t Kira.

“Light,” Misa said, her voice genuine and sincere, and L did have to give her credit, because she had answered with minimal hesitation. “I’ll follow Light wherever he goes, whatever he does. Because I love him.”

At what point would she realize that Light had never said _I love you_ back?

Maybe she already had.

Light didn’t look touched by the sentiment, or really happy about it, either. Maybe he had been hoping that Misa would choose Kira, giving him an out in the relationship. But he should have realized the unlikelihood of that, considering Misa would’ve been choosing _Kira_ in front of the world’s greatest detective, and…well. She was _Misa_. One of her main personality traits was _in love with Light_. It was a part of her, defined her.

L was fairly certain that was not how relationships were supposed to work, but then again, what did he know?

“As I expected,” he murmured, responding to Misa, and then his gaze drifted down to the table, absentmindedly. But, soon, it hardened and focused, and his eyes widened a little, because Misa hadn’t eaten her cake.

Hadn’t even touched it.

“Are you going to eat that?” he asked, leaning forward, eyes flicking back and forth between the girl and the dessert.

She looked confused for a moment, but then she glanced down at the table, and her face wrinkled in disgust. “No. Cake makes you fat.”

Barely managing to keep protests from spilling out of his mouth (he refused to jeopardize receiving the cake by arguing), L extended one foot on the table and reached, grabbing the plate. He then retracted and assumed his regular position, toes curling over the edge of the couch.

“I’ve found that cake does not make you fat,” he said then, preparing to shovel nearly half of the confection into his mouth, “if you burn calories by using your brain.”

Misa looked completely offended, sitting up straighter and crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re always implying that I’m stupid, Ryuzaki!”

“Oh. Am I?” He tried to stop himself from smirking, but he could tell it didn’t work. “I didn’t realize, Misa-san.”

The cake on his fork was now piled high, and he raised it to his mouth, ready to eat it –

And his arm bent in just the wrong way. There was a slight sting, which was not entirely unwelcome, but definitely unexpected, and he moved quickly, so the pain would stop. The cake, in response, tumbled off of the utensil and landed on his shirt, several splotches of frosting now marking it.

Resisting the urge to huff like a small child, L picked up what was salvageable on his shirt with his fork and quickly ate it, before the incident threatened to happen again. He then glanced up at Misa and Light, the two of them probably wondering if he was really a grown man, or maybe just a child somehow thrown into an adult’s body.

Misa’s expression resembled that, though her distaste for sweets was covering any humor she may have been feeling. Light, however, looked very plainly and openly amused, his eyes bright and alive and _honest_.

L hadn’t noticed it before, but this version of Light looked _physically_ different than the person he’d known before. He looked younger, more casual, laid back. Not nearly as stiff as he was before. The detective wondered if anybody else had noticed the differences in the teen. He was aware that not everybody paid attention to detail like he did, but it was _obvious_ , wasn’t it? It had to be. The boy even did his _hair_ differently.

“Ryuzaki.”

L blinked, eyes focusing back on Light. “Yes, Light-kun?”

“You were staring again.” He stood up and stretched (while Misa pouted at him from behind), then made his way over to the door, saying as he walked, “I’m going to get tea. Would you like some, Ryuzaki? Or maybe a new shirt?” At this comment, he turned and looked pointedly at the man, his expression still holding no Kira-like malice, or any cruelty at all –

Wait. Was Light _teasing_ him?

He had to stop himself from immediately dissecting the interaction, because if he did, he would end up staring again. “Just the tea. Thank you, Light-kun.”

Light nodded once – there also may have been a slight smile on his lips – and walked out of the room, leaving L and Misa alone, something that had never happened before.

However, with the boy out of the room, L started to let his mind concentrate on the possibility of Light teasing him. It definitely reassured the idea that Light had lost his memories, because he was positive that Kira would have no patience for _teasing_ the man who was trying to catch him. All friendly interactions before had been noticeably forced – the rest of the world may not be able to see it, but L could easily tell when Light was acting. And, before the containment, before that _look_ he had given the camera, the teen had definitely been –

“You know, Light does like you.”

L’s onyx eyes snapped up to meet Misa’s chocolate ones, and instead of verbally responding, he simply raised his eyebrows.

Which, luckily, Misa took for enough of an answer. “You said he was your first friend, right? Well, I think you’re his first friend, too.”

Where was this coming from? Why was she speaking so nicely to him? Had she already forgotten that he’d insulted her intelligence not a mere five minutes before? “I think you are mistaken, Misa-san. Light-kun has had many friends before me.”

“Yeah, _fake_ friends.” She paused, changing the position she was sitting in so her legs were underneath her. “I’ve seen him hang out with other people, but it’s different when he’s with you. Even if you two are arguing, which you do _a lot_ , he looks…interested. When he’s around you, he’s never bored.”

Apparently Misa Amane was more perceptive that L had taken her for.

Before he had a chance to respond (by saying what, he didn’t know), Light was reentering the room, carrying a tray of tea, and, even though L hadn’t requested it, a white shirt. He set the tray down on the table, then gently tossed the shirt at the detective, who caught it easily.

“I know you said you didn’t want one, but I happened to see Watari while getting the tea, and he got me that.”

A murmured _thank you, Light-kun_ spilled from his lips, and he set down his plate of cake and held up the shirt. It appeared to be his normal shirt, long sleeved and white, same soft fabric and everything – except that it wasn’t. It was a t-shirt, cutting off right below the shoulders, and the beginnings of panic stirred in his stomach.

He, obviously, could not wear it. But how could he refuse? Light had kindly gotten it for him, or, rather, Quillsh had given it to Light –

 _Quillsh_.

Of course. He had provided a t-shirt because he knew L would refuse to wear it, and therefore expose his “unsafe” habit. (A part of his mind wanted to call it an addiction, but he pushed the thought away.)

Did Quillsh think that _Light Yagami_ could stop him from doing something that not even his _father_ could stop? If anything, Light would _understand_. Be able to relate to the mental chaos and the relaxation that cutting brought.

Just like Near would understand.

“Is that shirt alright?” Light asked, bringing L back to reality. The boy was watching him expectantly, and – what, did he expect him to strip right _there_ and change into the shirt? He had to know him better than that by now. He was not the type to undress in the company of others.

“Yes, it’s perfectly fine.” L stood up, anxiety making his heart beat slightly faster, and he focused on making sure his hands weren’t clutching the t-shirt. “I will be right back.” He made his way to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

To no avail.

He really needed to have a knife with him at all times. No matter how suspicious that would be, if it was ever found; the pros outweighed the cons.

L held up the shirt again, inspecting it. It was the correct size, same brand as the ones he usually wore. It just had atrociously short sleeves that would show almost every cut he had on his arms.

He would just have to lie. Make an excuse. He’d done that several times before, in several situations, but it felt different now. Wrong in a way that it never had been before.

But it was necessary.

Taking a deep breath, he exited the bathroom, directing the majority of his brainpower to keeping his face neutral. Light immediately raised an eyebrow at him, not even bothering to say anything.

“It was too small. I’ll just change when I return to my room.” It was a blatant lie, but L hoped that he said it carelessly and offhandedly enough that it appeared to be convincing.

Misa didn’t look concerned (although that was to be expected) but Light looked suspicious. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, locking with L’s for a few seconds –

And then they returned to normal. “Oh, alright.” He leaned back against the sofa, moving his arms behind his head, looking so effortlessly casual that L knew for certain he wasn’t currently Kira, because Kira was meticulous, not natural.

L pulled his knees closer to his chest, and, while trying very hard not to stare straight at the teen, thought, _I will keep you innocent, Light Yagami. I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I really appreciate all the comments I get. Like, a positive comment on any of my stories is literally my favorite thing ever. So thank you so much!  
> Also, if you wanna check out my tumblr, it is soullessfollower98.tumblr.com :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little while - sorry about that! I lost some inspiration for this story and was having a hard time getting it back. But don't worry, I definitely did!  
> Enjoy! :)

Strawberry shortcake yogurt.

 _Light_ strawberry shortcake yogurt, no less.

It had been set in front of him, while he was in the middle of research (the task force was still simply examining the Yotsuba group, as they had not yet had another Kira discussion in the past five days), and it was (obviously) not what he had requested.

However, an event like this was not entirely uncalled for. Quillsh occasionally tried to get the detective to eat healthier, making offhanded comments about _early onset diabetes_ and _obesity being an investigative handicap_ as he did so. Which L always promptly ignored, instead choosing to push aside whatever food the older man had deemed acceptable (salad, seafood, vegetable soup, etc.) and restate his earlier choice.

This attempt was better, in that the food actually resembled dessert, but it was still not desirable enough to try.

So L sat and waited, waited for Quillsh’s voice to drift into his ears, as it inevitably would – but it didn’t. A few more seconds ticked by, and when it became apparent that no explanation was going to be offered, he turned his chair to face the direction in which the yogurt had entered his field of vision, and –

Light Yagami was standing there, watching him, a patient and slightly hopeful look on his face, his hair ruffled and purposefully messy, everything about him screaming _human_ instead of _sociopathic serial killer_. This wasn’t a mask, it couldn’t be, and with that thought, L felt _his_ mask crumble and shatter, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Light-kun?”

“You’ll try that, won’t you?” He moved to sit in his seat, at his desk, and then turned to face L. “I think it looks pretty good.”

 _Light Yagami doesn’t like sweets. What is the purpose of lying?_ “I-I…” He felt frustration start to bubble up inside of him at the realization that _yogurt_ was rendering him speechless, and he pressed his arm into his chair, calming himself. “I would, but I’m afraid Watari is on his way with some ice cream.”

“He was, but I saw him in the hallway when I came in and stopped him.” Light paused, a certain smugness passing over his features, and _it still wasn’t a mask_ – “He seemed pleased with my purchase and told me to go ahead.”

“Purchase?” Had the teen specifically went out and _bought_ this for him? Why would he do that?

“Yeah, I was at the store and I saw that, and it seemed like something you would like.” The detective must’ve still looked surprised, because Light laughed, the noise completely natural and genuine. “Ryuzaki, this is the type of thing that friends do for each other. Don’t look so freaked.”

L was almost 100 percent certain that the boy had never done something like this for any of his other friends. (Maybe Amane had been right?)

“This-” He stopped himself, having been about to say, _this doesn’t make you less likely to be Kira_ , but in all honesty, it _did_ , so he changed the direction of his thought process. “That is…very kind of you, Light-kun.”

Kira would never do anything like that, never _buy food_ for the man that was trying to capture and kill him. This was _Light_ , truly Light, and the kindness he possessed when he wasn’t ill with the sickness that was Kira was almost shocking.

He smiled then (L almost wanted to document it, because he just _knew_ it was rare) and turned to face his computer, his back straightening and professionalism taking over his demeanor.

Even so, he still said, not looking at him, “Please, tell me if you like it. I have a feeling Watari would be willing to buy them for you regularly.”

Quillsh would absolutely get them for him, that L was sure of, and he idly wondered if the teen and the older man were becoming something that resembled _friends_.

He forced the thought away, then turned to face the yogurt, fully expecting (and wanting) himself to dislike it.

But, after the first mouthful, he realized that it was nearly as good as real strawberry shortcake, and he almost stubbornly told Light that he hated it.

* * *

 

The men sat around the large octagonal table, backs straight, businesslike, professional. It was a Friday night, and the Yotsuba building was almost nearly empty, except for them. The perfect scene, the perfect opportunity, the perfect chance – to decide who Kira was to kill next.

Or so L was hoping.

Matsuda was very certain that he heard the men talking about Kira before his presence was made known, and everybody had immediately trusted his word. So much that even L felt obligated to.

And so, with a week in between the meetings, everyone had time to think, hypothesize, deduct.

Kira was either one of the men in the group, or was a friend/associate with very strong ties to them. These meetings were about discussing/deciding who to kill to strategically further themselves in their careers, or maybe just further the entire company in general, and not just them. L found the latter hard to believe – humans were far too greedy. If given the power that Kira possessed, the majority would kill for personal gain, not for justice or peace or the wellbeing of many. (Faux justice, though. _Faux_ _peace_. How can one call it peace if it is achieved by mass murder?) Those goals would scare many, unnerve them, overwhelm them. Plans too large often shatter even the greatest of minds.

 _But not Light’s_.

The entire task force was sitting in front of L’s monitors, focused on the group of men with rapt attention. It was late in the evening, so late that before the meeting had started, the contents of L’s brain had been swirling, becoming a jumbled, confusing mess. It had distracted him, terribly so, and instead of thinking about the case, he had been thinking about the sickeningly good feeling of a blade slicing his arm. But watching the group assemble, knowing that Kira was _so close_ – that easily stole his attention, and he was thankful.

Currently, the group was talking about normal business; things that had happened during the day, plans and meetings for next week – trivial, unimportant information that L didn’t care about. He knew that they could possibly be talking in code, but the chance of that was slim, for none of them knew about Wedy bugging the room.

So their business talk was truly just that, and L felt himself drifting away from it, sliding back into his thoughts, except they were now focused on the boy sitting next to him instead of the normal, aching need.

 _Light Yagami_.

He glanced over at him, pleased to see that the teen was watching the monitors with careful attention. His amber eyes were big and bright, determination visible even through L’s sidelong view.

Large goals, pressure, expectations…none of those affected Light. Not even in the slightest. He was always prepared, always ready. He never broke a sweat. L was much the same way, although now he needed assistance to help him through daily life (just _assistance_ ; just help; it wasn’t a problem). Maybe it was the overwhelming confidence that the boy possessed. Being the best all his life – he was the top student in Japan, after all – never failing, never even _worrying_ about failing.

That was where L and Light differed. Yes, L was confident; he was the three greatest detectives in the world (if he wanted to get technical); he couldn’t afford not to be sure of himself. But he was no stranger to failing. And he was becoming far too accustomed to worrying about it.

The importance of this case, how life threateningly serious it was, all of it – it wanted to break him. It wanted to tear his mind to pieces, destroy everything he’d made for himself (if he lost this case, if he couldn’t catch Kira, his reputation would be irreparably shattered). And it _was_. L’s mind was like a city – once glorious in its beauty, skyscrapers massive enough to be seen from anywhere. It wasn’t without its troubles; there were earthquakes every once in awhile, heavy, damaging storms. But it had always been rebuilt, never succumbing to the pressure of the outside world. But now it was crumbling, falling apart, crashing to the ground.

And every night, when L tried to fix it, repair it, rebuild it like he always had, his efforts were almost useless. Each cut he carved into his skin was like putting a piece of duct tape on a single crack of a dying building.

A single crack, when there were millions more.

It was impossible.

But L was going to damn well try.

“So…”

The voice immediately pulled him out of his thoughts. The tone of it was different, darker; it signaled that the masks were coming off, that the previous conversation was over. It told L that the real reason for this meeting was only just beginning.

“Last week’s deaths have already served us well.” Blunt, then. (They really didn’t know they were being watched.) L’s eyes quickly scanned the screens, searching for the man who was talking. “Yotsuba is quickly becoming the leading, most profitable company in Tokyo.” Takeshi Ooi. He was the oldest of the group, and the Vice President of VT Enterprises. No wife, no family. Very committed to his work. _He could be Kira_ …

“Yes, our plan is going very smoothly.” Reiji Namikawa. The Vice President of Sales, he graduated from Harvard University, in the United States, spending a total of six years there. His father was the President of Yotsuba’s US Division… “Who should we kill next?”

The entirety of the task force gasped, while L just leaned closer to the screen. There was a possibility, however slight it may be, that they would reveal _how_ Kira’s power worked. Was it a physical object, or simply mental? How willingly could it be passed from one person to another? What did Shinigami have to do with it?

( _L, do you know, Gods of death love apples? We can show our Shinigami’s to each other…)_

“I believe a more important matter needs to be discussed first.” Masahiko Kida, the Vice President of Rights and Planning. Quillsh had mentioned something about him a few days ago, hadn’t he? It had been late at night, so L hadn’t paid much attention… “I hired a detective, Eraldo Coil,” _oh, that’s right_ , “to further investigate L for us, and to figure out his face and name.”

Right. They were trying to kill him. Of course they were.

“Now we have to worry about this Eraldo Coil guy?” Matsuda’s voice shattered the intense focus that had become the atmosphere of the room. “We can never catch a break!”

L almost ignored him, because thinking about explaining himself seemed like too much effort. But after a glance around the room, and seeing Light’s wide, concerned eyes, he figured he should alleviate their worries.

“Coil won’t be a problem.” L looked back at the screens and started watching again, but the majority of his mind was concentrating on his words. “The detective by the name of Eraldo Coil is me.”

“What?”

The question came from several of the men at once, and L didn’t care to differentiate the voices.

“The three greatest detective’s in the world, L,” it felt strange to say his name out loud, “Eraldo Coil, and Denueve – they’re all me.” He could feel his attention being pulled back to the screens, to the meeting, and he hoped that the Coil conversation would be over quickly.

“So…” Matsuda sounded completely confused, and it took him a few seconds to get the rest of his sentence out. “They hired…you…to catch…you?”

“Well, yes, technically.” The way Matsuda said it made it seem comical. Maybe it was. “But to them, they’ve hired Aiber.”

He remembered now; he’d talked this plan over with Quillsh and eventually decided to have Aiber pose as Eraldo Coil. So far that plan had worked out brilliantly, as far as he knew.

Everyone was still confused, that much was obvious, but L’s attention had fully refocused on the meeting unfolding in front of them.

They were talking about who to kill now – they had most likely voiced their annoyance at Eraldo Coil’s inability to locate L and then simply moved on. The men were speaking of people and businesses that L had little to no knowledge of (meaning, basically, that he didn’t care), and it didn’t take long before they came to a decision on who their next victim was to be. The one currently speaking, Kyosuke Higuchi – _yes, L remembered him_ – said the name of the unlucky businessman, and the rest of the group spoke unanimously with a single, solemn, _agreed_.

L regarded the interaction with silent interest, wondering how it was possible to talk about murder in such a civilized way. None of their expressions had changed, either; they were all calm and serious, no sense of regret present in any of them. To a distant onlooker, nothing would seem out of place. If they hadn’t been speaking of such dismal, morbid things, it would easily appear to be a regular meeting.

While L had kept his thoughts inside, the rest of the task force apparently had no qualms about loudly voicing theirs.

“We need to stop them. We can’t let anyone else die.” Soichiro. Of course. L should’ve expected him to speak out; he would never be alright with innocent men dying if he had even a chance of stopping it. Which, in this case, he _did_ , but the chance was overwhelmingly slim.

“How can they just talk about killing someone like that?” Light. Surprising, considering the detective had witnessed the boy kill without moving a single muscle in his face. True, it was a different Light Yagami then – _Kira_ Light Yagami – but still, he possessed those murderous tendencies somewhere inside of him.

“I know!” Matsuda. L wasn’t sure who he was agreeing with. “It almost makes me sick!” Somehow, he actually managed to sound nearly ill.

“We have enough evidence to arrest them with these recordings. I’m calling this in.” The sound of Soichiro taking his phone out of his pocket could be heard, and L waited until he heard the man begin to dial to intervene.

“Yagami-san.” He made sure that he was loud, commanding. “Please, put away your phone.”

“But, Ryuzaki.” Desperation was creeping into the man’s voice, and L wondered if he would even be able to stop him. “We need to keep them from killing any more people.”

L turned his chair so he was facing the former chief, and he made sure that his eyes were hard, unyielding. “We are not completely sure that Kira is in fact part of this group. It could simply be a friend of theirs, or a person that only one of the men can contact. Arresting all of them would be too rash of a movement, and it would lessen our chances of finding the one, single Kira.”

“So we just let them keep killing?” Light moved to stand next to his father, a look of disbelief plastered on his face. “We’re supposed to save people, Ryuzaki!”

“We’re supposed to _catch Kira_ , Light-kun.” What would Light be saying if he was still Kira? He would most likely agree with L, but, what did that line of thinking even matter? If Light was still Kira, they wouldn’t be in this situation. “We would be sacrificing a few for the greater good.”

“I can’t agree with that.” He would’ve made an outstanding police officer, if he hadn’t become a serial killer. “We need to find some way of stopping them from killing without completely blowing our cover…” L could almost picture the wheels turning in the teen’s mind, and his amber eyes flickered back to the screen, to where the men were now discussing their second victim.

The detective could feel that his mind was beginning to slip; his focus was wavering, teetering back and forth between Kira and escaping to his room. There really was no way to excuse himself at this point; all the action was happening now. Everything they’d been waiting for. If only he had a blade _with him_ …

“Ryuzaki.”

L blinked and looked up at the boy, his eyes widening slightly when their gazes immediately locked. Light looked determined, albeit still slightly agitated from before, but after a few seconds, his eyes softened a little. It was barely noticeable; surely he was the only one who had caught the change. _But what did it mean?_

But he couldn’t think about that now. Later he would. Yes, definitely later. When he was laying in bed, both of his arms stinging with fresh cuts – then he’d be able to truly focus.

Apparently Light had taken L’s wide eyed stare as enough of a response, because he continued speaking without receiving any verbal confirmation. “If someone in the group is Kira, and it’s not an outsider, wouldn’t you say the odds of one of them being Kira is one in seven?”

“Yes.” His mind was suddenly pulsing, becoming terribly jumbled, and he needed to _concentrate_. “But I’d say at least two in seven. It is possible that there is a second Kira among them.”

“Two in seven…” Light’s mind was obviously racing, calculating, predicting. He leaned on the desk in front of him with two hands, his face closer to the screen than anybody else’s. “I’m going to call one of them and act as L. This way we could get a potential spy and stop them from killing at the same time. And I think the odds are in my favor.”

“Yes, it seems that they are.” L’s eyes scanned the area around his desk until he found the object he desired, and he gently pushed it towards Light. “Use this phone. It cannot be traced or tapped.”

“Who are you going to call?” Matsuda’s voice broke something – although he wasn’t sure what. However, it had made him aware that there were other people in the room, because somehow, he’d forgotten.

“I’m going to call Namikawa; he seems to have the most influence, but it’s obvious he isn’t Kira. Can I have his number, Matsuda?” There was the noise of rustling papers, and then the number was being read off, and Light was dialing, putting the phone to his ear; his eyes were glued to L.

But L looked away and glanced up at the screen, to see Namikawa pulling out his phone and looking quite disgruntled. Probably at the fact that there was no caller ID.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice impossibly smooth and confident, and for some reason it was inherently obvious that he wasn’t Kira, as Light had stated.

The teen didn’t bother with greetings. “Reiji Namikawa. Listen to me carefully, and don’t draw attention to yourself. I…am L.” The words sounded so natural, so normal, coming out of Light’s mouth, and L had to quickly look up at him, just to make sure there wasn’t the glint of Kira in his eyes. There wasn’t. “We have cameras and microphones in the room you’re in, and have been watching your entire meeting. First, you spoke about business as usual, but now you’re deciding who your second victim is going to be.”

Namikawa visibly stiffened, and L imagined that his eyes widened, too, though he couldn’t tell from the view they had. But after a couple seconds he relaxed, took a deep breath, and remained as businesslike as ever. “I see.”

“If you’re not Kira, and you don’t have direct contact with Kira, I’d like to make a deal.”

“Go on.”

Light had him. His plan was going beautifully (how had L not thought of it?), and he was smirking triumphantly with his success. “I’d like you to postpone any deaths you plan until one month from now. I’d also like you to keep attending these meetings, but to stay on the sidelines and act as a spy for me. If you can do these things, without telling the other men, of course – you don’t want them to panic, do you? – then everyone except Kira won’t be charged with any crimes. On the premise that you were all blackmailed into participating in these meetings.”

Namikawa’s reply wasn’t immediate; L could tell he was weighing his options, figuring out what was best for him. Eventually, he said, “That sounds reasonable.” His voice was calm, collected, practiced. None of the other men seemed to be the least bit suspicious.

“We’ll be staying in contact.” Light hung up without saying another word, and the entirety of the task force was silent as they watched the screen, eyes focused on specifically Namikawa.

He slid his phone into his pocket, and when another group member asked what the call was about (L knew he should remember his name, but he truly didn’t care at the moment), he simply said, “One of my men screwed up. I’ll have to fix it on Monday.”

His statement was unanimously regarded as the truth; he had their absolute trust.

Namikawa cleared his throat then, and all the voices in the room stopped, all heads turned towards him. There was a few beats of silence, and then his sure, confident voice was being projected into the void. “I believe it would be in our best interest to postpone any more deaths and focus solely on gathering information about L.” There was murmuring, but no outright disagreements. “If we continue with what we’ve been doing, there’s a chance that the police will start to notice a pattern. However, once L has been eliminated, we can let our guards down a little and kill more freely.”

 _Once L has been eliminated_. He felt a slight sense of unease at the words, even though he knew that he was in no real danger. They were not going to kill him; they couldn’t. He was really actually quite safe; Yotsuba Kira had no way of finding out his name, and Light was no longer Kira, so his presence was no longer a hazard.

“How long of a postponement are you thinking?” Shingo Mido (the Vice President of Corporate Strategy/Director of Financial Planning, L recalled) asked, in no way sounding opposed to the idea. None of the men seemed to be against it; some appeared to be thinking, some had their attention focused specifically on whoever was speaking.

“I propose that we give Coil, oh, a month, perhaps, to find out more about L,” Namikawa said, and he certainly was a brilliant actor. “After that one month, we kill, and then wait another, keeping up that pattern until L is dead. Hopefully it doesn’t take too much longer.”

There were no complaints. All the men seemed to be pleased, probably at the idea of L being gone, and then they gave a single, unanimous, _agreed_.

“You did it, Light,” Matsuda breathed, and he sounded amazed. Well, he probably was. He would’ve never been able to think of a plan like that one. “Way to go!”

“Yes, good job, son.” The sound of Soichiro clapping Light on the shoulder could be heard, and L wondered how much pain he would feel if the same had been done to him. Probably minimal; his upper arm had less cuts than his lower arm.

L glanced up at the teen, and after a few seconds their eyes had locked once again. All the agitation was gone from the amber depths, and had instead been replaced with pride, happiness, triumph (and that same softness from earlier).

“Very nice work, Light-kun.” L held his gaze for a few seconds longer and looked down at his desk, only now realizing that in the midst of his mental distress earlier, he’d forgotten to ask Quillsh for dessert. How unfortunate. “Your intelligence is truly amazing. You may even be smarter than me.”

“Don’t say that, Ryuzaki.” Modest. “You’re the greatest detective in the world. I’m just a college student.”

“Mmm. Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Hopefully Light hadn’t been expecting him to continue the back and forth game of compliments that they were falling into; he had no time for that.

“What’s our next plan of action, Ryuzaki?” Soichiro asked, and L could hear him take a step forward, so he was right behind him. “We have one month until they kill again.”

L didn’t immediately respond; he was thinking, trying to come up with something. He almost wanted to turn around and ask Soichiro why they needed a plan right this _minute_ , but he recognized that it would be unnecessarily rude, so he stayed still, staring at the keyboard on his desk.

Surely, the men would be contacting Coil again soon, demanding more results. So far, L had given them barely anything, and he knew that soon, they would begin to grow impatient, and, eventually, fire him. Which, although it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, it did make things slightly more unsafe for L. Perhaps they’d hire Denueve next – that actually would be quite comical.

Still, it wasn’t worth it to take any chances, because more than likely, they’d hire someone else, someone who wasn’t L, and while they wouldn’t be able to find anything, L wouldn’t be in charge. Wouldn’t be able to monitor them as closely as he could now.

So he needed _something_. Something to make the Yotsuba group think they were making progress. Something that would aid in finding Kira. Something that he could control.

Suddenly, an idea came to him, seemingly out of nothing, but it was definitely the _something_ they’d needed.

He turned to face the task force, his thumb on the edge of his bottom lip, his knees pulled securely against his chest. They were all looking at him expectantly, and L locked eyes with Light again before moving to stare at nothing in particular.

“We need Misa Amane.”

* * *

 

He was a painting, random splashes of white and blue and black and red. He was art, some twisted, sickening form of it, something just not quite right, a little bit off. A hit and a miss, the artist would decide that he was unsellable. Put him in a room of other unfortunates and let him rot and depreciate, until the little that he may have been worth was lost forever.

But, maybe, he thought to himself, as he clutched his knife in one hand and felt blood running down the other, if he had been put in a gallery, there was a chance that he could’ve been bought. The artist would’ve been surprised, no doubt of that, but he would immediately accept the buyer’s offer of full price. A tag would be placed on the horribly beautiful painting, reading, _sold to a Mr. Light Yagami_ , and he would be appreciated, gazed upon, never forgotten.


End file.
